


Fresh Baked Cookies

by badskippy



Series: Ever On and On [4]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Baby Frodo, M/M, Memory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 20:12:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1661024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskippy/pseuds/badskippy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo and Thorin, now retired to the Shire, watch a four year old Frodo ..... Oh dear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fresh Baked Cookies

**Author's Note:**

> this is a little one-off that is actually going to appear much later in my story, EVER ON AND ON - PATH TWO. There will be a scene where Bilbo and Frodo are having tea and Frodo makes a comment about Bilbo's cookies and he remembers days long-gone by.
> 
> This is what he remembers.
> 
> \------------
> 
>  **Khuz-dul Translations**  
>  Ghivashith – The treasure that is young  
> Mim – little  
> Urkhas – Demon  
> Nidoy-urkhasith – The Boy Demon-like (Demonic Boy)  
> Rukhs-inùdoy – Orc Son (Son of an Orc) – Dwarf equivalent of Son of a Bitch

* * *

           

            Bilbo didn’t even own a kitchen hourglass; he had no need for such devices. Since he was a young boy, his mother teaching him to cook, he had learned how to tell when something was done just by the smell. There was that point where the crusts formed or sugar caramelized or loaves browned that came through with the aroma that was emitted. And with all that knowledge in hand, he knew that the batch of cookies currently in the oven was almost ready to come out and cool.

            It was at that precise moment that there were the sounds of a distant crash, squeals of laughter and muffled Khuz-dul that, while not discernable, were clearly curses. All of these sounds were followed by the patter of small feet on polished wooden floors which, in turn, preceded the pounding of Dwarven boots the same said floors.

            “Come back here you little urkhas!” Bilbo heard Thorin bellow from the direction of the bath chamber.

            Bilbo poked his head out the kitchen doorway and peered into the hallway. He bit his lips to stop from laughing as he observed a very wet, very naked four year old Frodo running down the hallway, laughing like a mad-thing, while his Dwarf uncle was in hot pursuit and looking like he had fallen into the bath fully clothed—which was probably close to the mark.

            Thorin was almost within reach when Frodo dodged to one side and dashed down the entryway passage causing Thorin to stumble slightly in his effort to, one, abruptly change his direction and two, keep from slamming into the wall. Frodo on the other hand, deftly eluded capture; as far the fauntling was concerned, it was all great fun!

            Bilbo just stood there, a highly amused smile on his face, and watched as his husband and little nephew ran circles through the house; through the Parlour, out the door to the East Hall, turning into the Entrance Hall, a hard right into the Parlour and repeat.

            After about the second pass, Bilbo had to ask his husband, “Ready to give up?”

            “Never!” Thorin growled out as he continued his chase of the laughing Hobbit toddler.

            “Don’t you think you should admit defeat?” Bilbo suggested as Thorin pounded by again.

            “I keep telling you, Dwarrow have no word for surrender!” Thorin answered as he passed. “Come here you little rukhs-inùdoy!”

            Bilbo gasped. “Thorin! Watch your language.”

            “Oh, he has no idea what I’m saying,” Thorin countered as he made another round.”

            But Frodo being Frodo, meaning didn’t matter, just imitation. “Rukhs-inùdoy! Rukhs-inùdoy! Rukhs-inùdoy!” Frodo sang as he continued his trek.

            Bilbo shook his head; he was going to make Thorin explain to Primula and Drogo, not only the meaning of that word but how Frodo had heard it. His cousins would never let Thorin and Bilbo baby-sit Frodo again if the boy picked up Khuz-dul vulgarities. On the other hand, Bilbo reminded himself, Primula might find them funny and want to use them against Lobelia.

            Thorin finally got wise and doubled back, crouching slightly by the doorway to wait. Sure enough, Frodo as came through the opening he was promptly seized by his uncle.

            “Ha, ha!” Thorin cried in what he saw as victory. “Gotcha ye, nidoy-urkhasith!”

            However, Frodo was still damp, agile and wily; he promptly squirmed his way to freedom. Thorin looked like he was trying to hold on to a wiggling fish and in the end Frodo sprang away causing Thorin to fall flat on his arse.

            Thorin huffed out a heavy sigh. “I have fought Orcs and Goblins; I have treated with Elves and Wizards; I have even gone to the brink of death and returned!” Thorin glared up at Bilbo, obviously disgruntled. “It’s embarrassing to be bested in battle at the hands of a Hobbit fauntling!”

            “You aren’t using the right weapon," Bilbo said with a smirk.

            Frodo passed by with a squeal and Bilbo waited a beat or two, gave Thorin a wink and then called out loudly, “Who wants fresh-baked cookies?”

            The laughter died in the audible gasp that Frodo made while at the same time his little Hobbit feet slid about a yard on the polished floor; literally coming to a screeching halt.

            Frodo turned his huge, blue eyes on Bilbo. “Oh,Unca, pwease, pwease, pwease, can I has cookies?! Pwetty pwease?!”

            Bilbo shot Frodo a single raised eyebrow. “Only those who are dry and properly dressed get cookies.”

            Wide-eyed at the implications, Frodo ran over and grabbed Thorin by a hand and began to tug furiously.

            “Come on, Unca T’orin!” Frodo yelled urgently. “We gots to get dwied and dwessed so we can has cookies!”

            Thorin stood, but before being led away, he gave his husband a narrowed look that held no heat, thanks to the smile forming on his lips. “Fresh-baked cookies?” Thorin said pointedly. “You cheated; that’s against the rules.”

            Bilbo shrugged, looking as innocent as he could, then leaned in close to his Dwarf to purr in his ear, “In the game of life, my love, there are no rules.”

            Thorin laughed as he went to get Frodo dressed and himself cleaned up. Bilbo returned to the kitchen and removed the much-desired cookies; placed the next batch in the oven, and turned to the first to remove them from the baking sheet and let them cool.

            Not fifteen minutes later, Bilbo found himself on one side of the table, teacup in front of him, while he watched his family on the other side. Thorin, now dry and dressed, sat with his right hand firmly around the handle of a tankard of ale. Frodo munched away happily on his oatmeal cookies all the while standing on Thorin’s left thigh, the Dwarf-king’s left arm warped tightly around the fauntling’s legs to hold him steady; Frodo had his right arm securely around Thorin’s neck. Kili, who had returned home while Thorin and Frodo got dressed, sat next to them, so that Frodo was basically sandwiched between the two hardy Dwarfs.

            Frodo picked up the last cookie and looked at it for a few brief moments, as if studying it, before twisting around so that he could offer the cookie to his cousin.

            “I share wif you,” Frodo said to Kili, who took half the cookie in one bite, which made Frodo laugh. Frodo took his own bite, leaving a quarter of the cookie left. Twisting back around Frodo offered the last bit to Thorin.

            Thorin shook his head and said, “That’s yours.”

            Frodo shook his own head in response. “You pwayed chase, wif me,” Frodo said. “I wants to share wif you.”

            Thorin smiled, unable to refuse, and opened his mouth wide for Frodo.

            “Thank you,” Thorin said around his chewing.

            Frodo threw his now free hand around Thorin’s neck and planted a sloppy kiss on the Dwarf’s cheek before saying, “I wove you, Unca T’orin.”

            “I love you too, ghivashith,” Thorin said as he leaned close to get the little fauntling a whiskery kiss that caused Frodo to giggle.

            “Hey!” Kili said with mock indignation. “What about me?”

            Frodo twisted around again to plant another sloppy kiss on Kili’s forehead.

            “I ahways wove you, Kiwi,” Frodo said.

            “And I you,” Kili put his arms around Frodo and his Uncle, pressing his head against Frodo’s back in a hug and Bilbo couldn’t help chuckling.

            But then something extraordinarily wondrous happened.

            Bilbo’s breath hitched as time seemed to slow and in one brief, dazzling moment, all of his boys; Thorin, Frodo and Kili, turned in unison to look at him and in that instant, they gifted Bilbo with three beautiful, affection-filled smiles. Bilbo’s heart skipped a beat or two and felt like it would stop completely. As the moment seared into his memory, Bilbo was so overwhelmed that he closed his eyes—lest he forget to breathe.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Khuz-dul Translations**  
>  Ghivashith – The treasure that is young  
> Mim – little  
> Urkhas – Demon  
> Nidoy-urkhasith – The Boy Demon-like (Demonic Boy)  
> Rukhs-inùdoy – Orc Son (Son of an Orc) – Dwarf equivalent of Son of a Bitch


End file.
